Coldforged - Shadows of War: Chapter 1 - Ûr-Keldon

[EchoMirage]

"Hans, the guy on the rooftops is just a distraction! Dear Marcus is trying to mess this place up big time, even as we speak. Better finish him off quickly. The rest of us should advance, in a hurry if I might ask."

The small spirit whom I had promised Marcus trembled agitatedly in my palm, sensing the closeness of his target, tugging in his direction. "Soon you shall get what you deserve..."

***

The place was swollen with ancient energies - somehow close, and familiar, yet foreign still. If not for the fool ahead, and the nuisiance on the rooftops, I'd have felt at peace, floating and savouring the ambient energies.

Now they would have to serve a less meditational purpose.

***

More or less safely hidden in the jeweller's store, I took a casual look around, and proceeded to what I had in mind...
The wound on my thigh did not look that serious, and would serve me well at least I did not have to cut myself.
I licked my fingers, then dipped them into the carmine blood - as if in response, the tattoos on my hands seemed to light up. I spread my arms, and spoke, my hands writing in concordance with the words: "Anor...Sol...Azer..." The runes floated in the air for a while, before the blood drops they consisted of burst into flames.
Before me, I drew the sigil of Baal-Sammoth, a beacon for spirits, and spoke, focusing my sight on the beyond: "Ancients, who once dwelled within these walls, hear me, feel me, see, oh follow the call of my plea... a despoiler to great evil calls, so dread, so foul, he your home soils, he wishes that your birthplace falls, your final rest his sorc'ry spoils!
So rise and shine, unleash your ire, wreathed in my enchanted fire..."

As soon as any of them would join me, they'd be infused by the signs of burning blood, walking torches, spirits of fire.

Time to even the odds.

[Roack]

The pain peirced Roack far deeper than any arrow could, spreading like wild fire along the very fabric of his being. He stumbled, to afraid to look directly at the arrow, screaming for what seemed an eternity to him. He reached out to the blacksmith, his banshee wail dying slowly to the whine of a lost puppy. Roack's eyes dwindled slightly on the runes, and then closed as he fainted in his own vomit.

[Chaosmark]

Hunthar's first reaction to the smithy was one of absolute astonishment, and his mouth gaped open, something that didn't happen often to the Therbian blacksmith. So great was his astonishment that he barely heard Roack's entrance and vomiting, forgetting the assassin entirely as he looked around the room.

If only he could come back here and use these wonderful materials, he could make ANYTHING. What weapons, what armor! Perhaps the very stuff of legends could be forged right here, under his hands. Eyeing the runic hammer, Hunthar wandered over and hefted it, wondering if it would be to much of a burden to haul with him if he couldn't get back to this wonderful smithy. The loud *THUNK* of an arrow embedding itself into wood startled him out of his revere, and he turned around just in time to watch Roack scream in agony before collapsing in his own refuse.

He quickly rushed over to where the downed merc was lying and pulled the arrow from the doorframe before dragging him all the way inside the smithy. How could he have been so stupid? This was a warzone, and he was a fool if he let himself get distracted, even by such an impressive forge. Checking the company's thief over, Hunthar made the assessment that he would be fine once the arrow was removed from his leg.

Cursing the tattooed pain in his own left leg which had risen to the top of his mind thanks to Roack's injury, Hunthar searched his pack for the bandages he tried to keep there. Finding a single roll left, he sighed and turned to the poor unconscious fool. This is gonna hurt like nothing you've ever felt before buddy. Thank heaven you're not awake for this...

Looking around, Hunthar found nothing to place on Roack to keep him down, so he sat upon the thief's chest, using his weight to anchor him in place as he gripped the arrow and slid it to where he could get a good grip on it. He snapped the back end of it off, leaving a small bit jutting out before he pulled the tip-side out the other way. Immediately blood began to flow from the wound, moreso than before, and it was quickly and deftly bandaged by the impromptu field surgeon. Thank the gods above the arrow didn't snag on a bone, or worse, get caught between his ribs. That would have been nearly impossible to fix. As for now, he'd just have to pray Hans and the others came.

Keeping a close eye on Roack, Hunthar continued his search for useful materials, the runic hammer already swinging from his belt.
------------------
OOC: A note for AG: What metals might such a forge have? Did they make any notes on forging that Hunthar might find? Did the inhabitants leave suddenly and thus left everything where it was, or were they deliberate in packing up everything possible and leaving only the most impossible to transport? Things for you to mention in your post, since that's what he's looking for.

 Also the hammer. I didn't get the impression that it would be impossible for him to haul around, but considering the size of the anvil, I'm not sure. Response? Oh, and yes, it's on his belt and not in his pack for a reason...*grins evilly* Hammer wounds get nasty, and he knows how to use it.

[Ancient Gamer]

Domunsoka stood watching the raven as it departed. The streets were silent, save for the random shouting of Sternflucht’s men and the shade of Sharee, darting from the garden to the jeweller’s shop. The construct could not put words to the dark feelings within, but this city seemed strangely familiar, as if he had been here before. But Domunsoka’s feelings were different in many ways and the moods of his alien memories did not match those which he now felt. The city should be full of life and love, yet this place was cold and devoid of life.

As Domunsoka stood there, his thoughts focused on his strange inner feelings, powdery white snow suddenly fell from the roof, dusting him with a layer of chill white. Then even more snow fell on top of him as the mysterious assassin came jumping down from the rooftops, landing atop the grotesque construct. With inhuman strength the assailant hurled the stunned construct down the spiralling stairs, quickly following with his knife drawn. The beast was after its prey and soon the streets resounded with the assassin’s guttural snarling growl.

**********

“If you can take him out with your spells, we’ll provide the distraction!” Hans yelled in answer to the squad witch’s suggestion. Then the witch ran off through the streets and Hans beckoned to the young ex-slave to follow him. Behind the trunk of a beautiful tree, Flare sat and rummaged through his equipment, trying to figure out what was broken, what was ruined and what he could still use. Sternflucht looked at Flare and nodded before he spoke “Stay here Flare and clean your equipment, but try to remain in the shadows!”

As the two men conversed a loud guttural growl echoed through the streets and Hans cursed loudly: “d**n! Sharee has begun without us! Quick Solstra, let us aid her while she still breathes!” Sternflucht brooded as he dashed out of the garden. Any assassin harming the witch would answer to him.

**********

Unbeknownst to the sergeant, Sharee stood undetected within the strange jeweller’s store. Two stairs had run parallel up to two doors, one with a jeweller’s sign and another with an eye within a hexagonal star. But on the inside both doors led to the same shop, though with separate pairs of shelves and with two counters. The place seemed strangely familiar and as the witch wove her spell, her eyes darted from painting to painting and from shelf to shelf. Austere elderly men were depicted on the paintings and Sharee felt a knot inside her stomach.

I know these men. Ichraek of the Broken Flame, Master Tyverne of the Sciomancers’ Halls, Gregal the Twice Imprisoned and last but certainly not least, F’kharn the Guardian of the Night Gates

Suddenly the witch began to shiver uncontrollably as ancient ghost memories flooded through her being. She tried to complete the spell, but for some reason it was dispelled, the air around her fingers hissing and a bright light flaring for a fraction of a second. Sharee could see a small child running through the building, its lips moving but emitting no sound. It ran up to the counter and put a small package upon it. Sharee’s eyes looked at the woman behind the desk and suddenly everything spinned. She knew that woman and… it could not be!

Lucerne… Lucerne my love, my wife, my long dead friend.

Sharee fell to her knees and without even realizing it she screamed. She screamed in denial, in rage and in grief. She screamed as memories that weren’t hers tore through her being, breaking her, tormenting her. And as she screamed, a whispering began, an ageless taunting voice speaking to her, its mocking tone making her scream even more. “She is dead now Kandarein. Dead as you are still alive, here, within a body that ain’t yours. She is dead and so is all that you ever fought for. None among the twelve whose oaths bind me still made a worthy sacrifice, as you will all come to know!”

**********

Hunthar, having bandaged Roack, looked through the smithy. There was something so strange about this place and the hammer had felt… it had felt at home in his hands, like it had always belonged there. As he looked through the room the warrior noted that things were as they ought to be. Ought to be? Beneath a large desk, where the smith would pour molten metal into different crucibles and forms*, ore was stored in crates, awaiting the smith. As on instinct, Hunthar’s eyes looked upon one of the platinum crucibles that stood on the table, beneath some shelves. Hunthar needed no instructions on how to use these materials and all this equipment. He already knew, though as for how this could be, he had no answer. While he thought his fingers traced the outline of the hammer. It felt so right to carry it and with the tip of his fingers he felt the fey energies emitting from the runes; a subtle vibration tingling on his flesh.

As Hunthar stood silent, marvelling about the place, a loud guttural sound suddenly sounded from nearby. Then he heard the sergeant bellow commands and soon the blonde sergeant came running through the streets.

OOC:
*forms: I did not remember the proper word for forms in which molten metal is shaped into arrowheads and such. Thus I used the word forms.

[EchoMirage]

I wept tears that were not my own.
I breathed dying breaths that did not pass between my lips.
I felt wounds that never scarred my flesh.

Then, suddenly as it began, the pain was gone, but I felt it lurking just beyond the shadowy fringes of my mind.

I gazed at the counter, if the woman or the girl were still there... and then I remembered the package, grabbing it swiftly.

As I did, I percieved nebulous figures passing hence and forth through the walls, torn spirits, maimed and difigured.

Slowly, carefully, I extended my perceptions, searching like ma man in darkness filled with razors, barbed wire and broken glass.
"No reason to fear..." I whispered.
"Friend not foe am I" I soothed.
"Come and peak to me" I beckoned. "What came here to pass?"

[Maggot]

Panting desperately,as her body pushed itself to the utmost limit to keep up with the long stride of Hans,Solstra battled just as furiously to keep her terror from consuming her. She was rushing into what would no doubt be the heat of combat. And she had nary a single experience of slaying under her belt. This was suicide. If she had any sense,she would turn around immediately and try her best to leave this cursed mouldering dwelling of assassins and long forgotten ghosts.  
 
And yet she could not. Onatha's twisted gaze still lingered in her mind,demanding the vengeance due to it. And Marcus El-Keddeth still lived. There would be no turning back,not for her.
 
''Hans! Any good tips on how to slay a dangerous foe with a dagger?''

[Ancient Gamer]

Whatever had happened, Sharee's moment of scary visions had ended, though the package remained, its mouldy parchment wrappings nearly disintegrating at her touch. The strange whispering voice was gone too and try as she might she could no longer attain contact with the apparitions of the past. She still felt as if she knew the place; knew that behind the alchemist's counter she would find potions and scrolls of power. Knew that on the fourth floor was a summoning room harnessing the power of a teleportation rift. It was as if she had once belonged here, yet she did not feel safe nor at home. Then suddenly she noticed screams from the outside, commands and grunts, familiar sounds from her time with the mercs.

********

Hans drew his sword while he strode through the street, quickly closing in on the battle site. Behind him he could hear Solstra pant, trying to keep up with him. He had actually expected the slave to flee and when she posed her question he was quite impressed. "Try to stay back whatever happens. If you get any opening from the side or rear, use it, but do not under any circumstances approach an opponent with a significantly longer weapon from the front. A dagger versus sword fight is always ugly!"

[CaptainPenguin]

Domunsoka unleashed an eery cry, like the yowl of mountain lion, and flailed itself in a serpentine yet graceless way to snap at the muffled assailant. Its tongue, like a twisting river of black blood, flicked forward and slapped at the assassin's feet; the man in black backflipped impressively onto the banister of the stair, switching his knife into his other hand.

"Blood!" screeched the ghost doll. The assassin seemed unphased. The flesh-wood being leapt animalistically into the air, claws outspread...

[Maggot]

As Domunsuka's eerie shriek of wrath rent the still air,Solstra shuddered. The ghost doll's ghastly attempts at speech never failed to make her blood curdle.

''It sounds like Domunska has already gotten to the assassin before us''.

[EchoMirage]

"Posh spirits, to snub me so..."

I grabbed the parchments, taking a brief glimpse at them, whether anything might prove useful - and too dangerous to be left lying around.
The potions... were Flare's area of expertise. And, I did not like pouring some millenia-old liquid down my throat.

Having plundered what I could in haste - several scrolls and some jewelry for vanity's sake, I checked the contents of the box, filled with curiosity, while storming out. Those kids would not make it without me.

[Ancient Gamer]

A loud bump as something hit the floor hard upstairs and the creaking of the staircase to the first floor were the last sounds Sharee heard before she exited the building, her hands cramming as many pearl necklaces, ruby ear rings, gem studded rings and amazing bracelets as she could possibly carry. As she pressed her shoulders against the door, pushing it open, she studied the box, which was now partially buried in jewellery. It had been carefully wrapped in mouldy parchment, probably to protect it from impact. Alas the mysterious box was locked and the lid would not budge. As she raised her head, she witnessed Hans and Solstra with their steel at ready; facing down an alley. Hunthar could also be seen in an opposite doorway, now sporting an enormous hammer hanging from his belt. The swordsman’s hands were stained with blood and Roack was no where to be seen.

*********

Domunsoka charged up the stairs and then leapt towards the assassin who had attacked him. The want to be killer seemed stunned by the construct’s ferocious counter-attack. A guttural rolling sound escaped from its lips mere moments before Domunsoka landed. It was a sound soon answered by unseen creatures on the other roofs. Then the hunters came into view; at least seven cloaked men, all hunched forward, drawing their bows and snarling in defiance, daring the mercs to make the first move.

[CaptainPenguin]

Domunsoka stabs it's corpse-claw outward with animalistic suddenness, seizing the creature within the cloak by a pale, fleshy neck. With typhoon speed, it whips it's arm around, cracking the assassin jerkily through the air; the sound of a shattering spine briefly echoes.
Dropping the assassin into the crunchy layer of old snow, the ghost doll stares down at the broken body for an instant. The slot of sky visible above the alley is occluded with dark clouds; flakes of wet snow begin to drift downward.
With a hiss, Domunsoka turns towards the sound of his companions.

[Roack]

Roack fell.
A grim mockery of lightning danced a long his skin, filling his nostrils his the reek of blood and soulrot. The grass deadened in his wake, and the trees slowly shuffled at first sight.
He was alone again.
The water hypnotized him with it's angry, dancing threats. Roack stepped forward, fatally attracted to the water's game. His hand reached into to the water, set ablaze with the blood of a dying sun. Dragged down into the cold, uncaring nothingness of the earth's dead womb.
His eyes were forced open.
People tired with the world slept, their faces empty, not needing to express themselves to anyone. These were the faces he knew, though he had only heard the whispers in their sleep. These were the truth speakers, his teachers, his only companions, though they had always been far away. Roack wandered through the halls of the dreamer, waiting for what he knew was coming. The murmuring of the ones who left this world could not soothe him. Roack stepped to the altar fully aware of what he was doing. She stood up, awake, angry, and murderous beyond belief. She would kill him, he knew it, perhaps he wanted to die? If it would please her there would be nothing wrong with it...
Her hands grasped his neck, though he did not fight. his mind ripped itself in two, warring instinct against family.
Instinct won.
Roack screamed, shook her off, leaving the hell that he had been born to, casting aside his entire being up to this point. He woke up to the scent of vomit. Raising himself weakly, he stumbled over to the forge, undoing the chain on his neck, and throwing his pendant into the place fires had onced raged.
His lips echoed the victory his mind should have had long ago.
"Good bye mother."

[EchoMirage]

Curiosity killed the cat... avarice killed the witch?

I hoped this would not be true.
Trying not to be suspicious, I raised my hands above my head, playing the surprised thief, feeling several of the oh-so sharp arrows pointing my way, the malice and bloodlust of the men behind them wafting over to me along the projectiles' future course. The glitter of the gold might catch their attention for the blink of an eye I needed. Moving my right foot to form a minor Anor sigil, I evaporated a little of my body moisture, exhaling a cloud of steam through my belly-mouth. Though it pained me greatly, I left a shard of life-force bhind, to give the clod a semblance of me, perhaps for a few seconds, as again I darted into the safe shadows of the jeweller's store.

Cat and mouse play you want? Cat and mouse play we will.

The harlequin mask on my palm was suffused with blood again, crimson rivulets traced along my skin - though the pain was almost exquisite. I felt it surge, throb, pulsate, with a longing, almost intent. So be it. I let it flow, let it fly, let it run, and released the leash.

With the same blood, I touched my chakras, the last drop left floating above my head, and through its leverage, I adjusted the others...

Cat and mouse indeed.

I reached deep - into a well we all have, yet most are unaware, blissfully so, for it is primordial, feral and might shatter out self-delusions of civilization and manner, of reason.
Deep within the heart rests the passion, the beast - it is this well that fuels our primal instincts, it is this well that wolves and vampires drink from during the hunt, it is this well that sustains a killer's rampage, that allows a mother to break a warrior's neck when defending her children.

What else were these mercenaries to me? Mine. Kill me if you dare, but do not a much as raise your voice against them.

And my balance shifted.
Let yourself go, Sharee...

Magic flows with emotion, and mirrors the mental state of the wizard.
I let it so so, flow into my limbs and chest, spiral around my fingers and flow into my teeth through their roots, infuse me, and bring further pain, and change.
With the sound of cracking bones and bubbling flesh, my fingers sprouted talons wicked, and fangs burst from my gums. A shroud of black fur cloaked my features, the hair becoming a true mane, while a beast's fury flowed through my veins, and rippled though my muscles.
The world was filed with perceptions strange yet natural, mostly the scent of ... prey.
Up the stairs I charged, towards the hatch that would lead me to the roofs.

Cat and mouse. Yes, I like the sound of this.

Moisture flowed from the wet walls, a damp cloud to conceal my advance. I felt the harlequin sing to it its alluring siren song, the mist becoming thick and opaque.
Then, I was outside. The prey so close.

Fangs bared, claws ready tu bury in its flesh, I leapt.

[Maggot]

Solstra gasped in terrorized astonishment as a monstrous black beast hurtled towards the assassins that held their deadly bows at the ready.

Her suddenly sweaty fingers striving to maintain their grip on the slippery pommel of her dagger,she hissed a query through teeth clenched to prevent her from screaming.

''What on earth is that brute?!''

[Ancient Gamer]

OOC: To ease your reading experience: The tattoos are powerful and give you powers and connections your characters cannot fathom. Most of the in text memories / recollections are connected to you through the tattoos.

I am a bit rusty here. PM me with stuff that you wonder about. I will reply everyone.

Now let us get the show on the road!

IC:
Domunsoka watched the dead spirit writhe within the broken body of the fallen assassin. It seemed as if the spirit struggled to break free of its bonds and do in death what it could not in life. What was worse was that the construct could see the spirit. It could even sense the dark taint that had supernaturally imposed it self on the soul of the individual, no doubt possessing it or in other way controlling the unfortunate ex-mercenary.

 Steps. Lonely steps down a dark alley. The jingle of keys and the whistle of the mountain wind. F'kharn walked resolutely towards the Gates. They were his responsibility at night and he had been granted command of the Fu-Beasts and the Globii.

 Ever since the reawakening of the enemy, there had been a sense of dread hanging over the mountaintop city and the King had not returned. People saw that as an ominous sign and with bad times came bad people. Murderers had been on the loose in the streets and F'Kharn had made it his sole responsibility to keep the streets safe at night. Turning his head slightly, F'Kharn noted the two Globii drifting behind, their ominous whispering promising him eternal d**nation and cursing his name. The Globii were the bound souls of condemned murderers and appeared like small, winged humanoids with overly large heads and eyes. Their skin was semi-translucent and within the internal organs and pulsating blue veins could be seen. Smiling to himself, F'Kharn continued down the alley. The ritual might be around the corner, but tonight he would hunt and he would kill.

Having slain his enemy, Domunsoka turned his attention to the ruckus on the street. There seemed to be more of these strange man-things arriving. A sound from behind startled him, and it seemed like his foe was not as dead as he should have been. Then it all happened. Around him dark shapes landed, their boots whirling up the snow. Three, four... Five.

Soon Domunsoka was fighting for his life.

*******************************

 "In desperate moments, a mage can tap into hidden reserves; sources of power hitherto untouched." The words were those of Abaelard Firbenmoor, Sharee's one time mentor and they were ringing over and over in her mind. She felt the rush of the wind and the ancient energies around her as she cast her desperate spell. She did not master this discipline; her knowledge was cursory at best. Tears of pain ran down her cheeks and she screamed. Yet, somehow, it succeeded and an overwhelming animal rage welled up inside and ate the pain. Then she was upon her prey and the carnage began.

Claws. Rend. Murder. Vague recognition. The prey looks familiar, but yet not. There is a strange scent to it. It smells of blood. Of sweat. Of hunger. This is no normal prey.

This was a battle between two predators, and the beast slammed into the assassin, unbalancing it and gaining the advantage.

*******************************

Solstara stood watching the huge beast slam into one of the cloaked hunters on the rooftops. It gave her a strange feeling of deja-vu. She had seen this before, or... been here before… Shaking her head she tried to make sense of the situation, tried to respond to what was happening. She focused on Hans but he stood shaking his head groggily, as if to force himself from some horrible waking dream. The former pleasure slave reached her right hand towards the sergeant, to offer him support, but it was as if everything warped and twisted in front of her eyes, and the battle grew distant and she sensed not that the assassins released their bows, their arrows trained at Hans and her.

OOC: Gregal = Hans, Tyverne = Solstara

IC:
"Speak to me Gregal, when do the enemy arrive? Will we manage to complete the ceremony in time?"

The words were hers, but she did not speak them. Hans turned, but his face was wrinkled and old. It was not Hans at all.

 Gregal, the former Master Thief of Keldon, now the head of his Majesty's secret police, stood silent for a moment before replying.

"The enemy close in on us, but Kandarein has promised me he can do this… but…I am surprised Master Tyverne, I thought the Sciomancers had full insight into this matter!"

"No!" Tyverne shaked his head. "Our divinations are blocked and the dead dare not speak. We are helpless before the coming of the enemy, my friend"

Gregal nodded grimly. "Then we must put our faith in the ritual. It is our last hope now."

Solstara shaked the alien memories and looked into the face of Hans. There was recognition there. He had felt something too. Then the couple of mercenaries was hit by a hail of arrows.

***********************

Hunthar had fastened his hammer to his belt and stepped out in the alley. There was something familiar about all of this. It was as if he in some way belonged here...

Hunthar grunted and shaked his head. The no nonsense smith had no desire to get lost in thought right now and he quickly surveyed the streets. On the rooftops a huge hairy beast, probably an upright wolf or a cat thing, he could not tell, was tearing into an assassin who struggled to keep his footing on the ledge of the roof. In front of him, in the middle of the street, Hans and Solstara was hit by a hail of arrows, and he quickly sent a prayer to his gods that they would survive. Then he cast a sideways glance further into the alley in which Domunsoka had been stalking. To his surprise Hunthar witnessed enemies fall from the roof, and land in a ring around the ferocious construct. Domunsoka  snarled defiantly and seconds later a strange reverb emanated from the city gates.

Hunthar let his thumb slide across the pommel of his sword. He was ready.

***********************

Within the smithy, Roack hurt like nothing he had ever experienced before. A sharp and intense pain cut through his leg with irregular intervals and had awakened him from his strange dream. Pearls of sweat trickled down his forehead. He nearly fainted a couple of times and the sickening smell of vomit made him nauseous. Everything was spinning and he thought he saw someone.

Mother? No… You are not mother... Who are you?

Then everything went black and Roack laid there, a smile on his lips.

***********************

Dietrich was cold. In his arms the frail woman shivered, but he pushed on, his weary legs stumbling through the streets. She had so little clothes, it was a miracle she still lived. He had found her in a cave in the mountains not far from here, a cave he really did not know how he came by. The last thing he remembered was a great beast and then he found himself shuffling through the snow, guided by inner voices. “Mother was waiting” they said and he could not help himself. When mother asked, he never said no. But could this woman really be mother? The real mother?! She was pretty enough, but she seemed so young... and yet so old.

There is something about those eyes. Mother’s eyes. They are so cold. So old.

Dietrich stumbled on; the place mother had told him about was not far away.

[CaptainPenguin]

Domunsoka drops to the ground, bunching sinewy and animalistic into a demonic crouch, and launches forward like a foul toad at one of the black figures. A wooden hand tears at black fabric, and a spray of blood bursts against the alley wall, staining a worn relief with crimson.
The ghost doll rolls as it collides bodily with the ground, followed soon after by swirling cloak-shadows, flitting with inhuman agility. The beast skitters through the hard layer of pocked snow in the street and crashes across the frozen surface of a dirty puddle.
With a tiger-ish leap, the half-wooden thing vaults onto an ornate balcony overhanging the street, smashing the delicate handrail. Cornered by a dozen black-caped figures, it unleashes an ululating dragon screech.

[EchoMirage]

As I leapt and buried my claws in the prey, I felt a strange release - this felt so natural, and a long-dormant part of my consciousness awoke, humming a song wordless and ancient, Kill. Mate. Feed. Repeat.
The jugulars, the face, the belly and the loins of the prey glowed red, and my arms just followed the glow, relentless, me and the assassin a twister of black cloak and midnight fur.

Leaning back, a reasonable and cynically calm part of myself kept recounting: "Liver. Spleen. Pancreas. There goes the kidney.

Sorcery coiled around by claws and teeth in mad patterns, condensing from the air around us as I swung my arms to strike again, rending flesh and soul.

With a 'twang' another enemy loosed an arrow from his bow, its flight ending in my side. Casting the shredded assassin aside, I leapt at him, fangs bared. From its sheath he drew a ... shining claw ...and slashed a painful wound across my ... muzzle ... I was upon him. He grasped my throat, as to keep my gnashing maw away from his face, while my belly maw found his other hand, and bit into it ravenously, snapping the forearm bones with an audible crack.

I felt alive.

[Maggot]

Solostra shrieked in as an arrow thudded into her shoulder. The sheer combination of terror and agony pressed heavily on her mind,threatening to send her into a fatal panic from which she would never emerge alive. She was no fool. She knew that if she were to escape this scrape,she had to begin limping her way towards the nearest cover she could spot. Another wave of arrows were soaring their way towards her and Hans,singing through the air with an angry melody worthy of a swarm of aggrieved wasps..

Then the fear vanised to be replaced by a frenzied rage that screamed for vicious retribution. This was Marcus's doing! The fiend wasn't simply content with having robbed her of her beauty and innocene,he had to follow things through to the twisted end and callously stomp out what little miserable existence he had left her! d**n the sucm to the depths of hell? Try as he might,she would live to send him there!

And then the pain,returned worse than ever,this time joning its keening chorus to that of the fury. She tried to scream,but her throat was hoarse,her voice depleted. Had the arows been posioned? If that were the case, then everything was over for both her and Hans..

But behind the rage and the pain,there was something else stirrring now. It was simple,primal even. And powerful,inexorably encroaching on her human pain and rage,suffocating and smothering them,as her various bones and organs shifted and rearranged themselves in her rapidly mutating body.

Danger. Dangerous two-legs everywhere. Flee. Fight if cornered. But save pack brother first.


Moments later,a a hulking furry shape clamped its massive jaws gently around Hans's right leg and effortlessly dragged him out of the range of the arrows that the shadowy figures perched atop the walls were still discharging relentlessly from their bows.

[Roack]

Roack's mind and body rebelled. Blood and thought screamed their disagreement. His soul wanted sleep. Cool, refreshing, rejuvinating rest. It should know better than the others, after all. Of course, they'd never listen. Such is revolution. It was ironic, almost. Sleep was anathema to that which craved dreams.Oh and to have that sweet nectar now! To embrace what was true and real! To have nothing less then the absolute, to be free!

Why did mother cry so?
Was she lonely there, in sleep?
Lonely in waking?
Did you displease her?
Make her angry?

She didn't cry in the dreams. Then maybe... were they the lie? It was best not to think of such things. Besides, mother would not cry now, She would be angry, wrathful. Roack's heart beat in his chest. His soul snarled in disagreement, Such was the democracy of an entity! His eyes threw open, showing their support of his body's cause. Roack's mind grew wary, it was a warzone, and that meant wounds, maybe even death. Something was wrong in the world, fleeing was his first and last choice.

The bandange on his leg pulsed in time with his feet exiting the forge. It was a march through death and into life. He crept along the ground, heading for the protection of the garden foliage. The alchemist was there... he would protect him, right?

[Chaosmark]

OOC: Gyeh! I'm soooo sorry for holding up the party! Grounding sliced my comp time to once a week, to roughly an hour on Wednesdays. I've already spoken with you about it AG, and I'll try to post when I can.

IC:
The one-time smith watched as the shape-changed Solstara dragged Hans out of the range of the aerial assault coming from the walls, a smile alighting on his face for but a moment. Three of the company were out of the fight, away from danger, and two others were quite capable of keeping themselves safe. That left him, the blacksmith turned mercenary.

With a calm that only comes in moments of deadly danger, Hunthar walked out into the street, becoming the new focus of the arrows that had plagued Hans and Solstara. He stopped in the middle of the street, dropping into a recieving stance, hand on hilt ready to draw at a moment's notice. A flight of arrows was loosed at him, most missing their mark by a long shot, but a few flew straight and true. Of course, that was expected, even anticipated.

Hunthar's memory flashed back to a technique he had seen his master use once or twice before, prompting him to ask about it. He had never been very good at it, and it hadn't seemed to be a needed skill to learn, in the face of all the other draw magics that could be done. But why waste magic when the same effect can be done with a little skill? He had learned it with a bit of reluctance, now thankful that he had done so.

The arrows were almost to their mark, when they were sliced in half; six pieces of wood fell to the ground as Hunthar resheathed his scimitar. Time to go on the offensive. Too long had the company been forced to run and hide in this stupid city, trashed and broken. His eyes flashed in the low lighting as he looked over the shadowy figures along the wall. Let the war begin.

An outpouring of energy flowed from Hunthar, his blade a conduit for the spiritual energy that twisted and writhed, begging to be used for something, anything. He obliged, and the wave of air caused by the drawing of the weapon was magnified a hundredfold, igniting into a blast of swirling air and flames, rushing to consume each and every archer upon the walls. Conflagration was their fate, decreed by the bearer of the ancient Hunter.

[Michael Jotne Slayer]

Dietrich pressed on, his knees were groving numb and he felt like he was descending into the darkness.
Ahead, lights flickered. The woman moaned and tightened her grip around his shoulder.
The memories of finding her in the cave were like a beacon, telling him were to go. Hounding him on towards his goal.
Suddenly he felt a chill running down his spine, was he in danger? Was mother in danger?
He drew his sword, clumsily holding it in one hand. He could not carry the female and fight as well. He paused and pondered, trying to remain alert for any potential dangers. Dietrich then removed his belt and used it to tie up the womans hands.
"Forgive me mother", he whispered softly while he tightened the knot. He moved on, staggering. The woman now on his back, hanging from his neck by her hands. Had he reached the town square? So close.

[Ancient Gamer]

[OOC: The mountain is the heart of the tattoed powers. Feel free to be somewhat munchkin as your power level is way beyond that of the dark mercenaries. Any questions can be directed to me in the OOC or by pm. Have no fear for balance: your powers will wane quickly as you depart the mountain (to which they are bound). There is an exception to the power level. Your power level is beyond any normal dark mercenary, but not beyond that of the tattoed barbarian]

There was a single thud, a deafening sound that nearly knocked Dietrich to the ground. Warily he dropped to one knee and scanned his surroundings. "Can you let me down now child?" his mother said, and her words were followed by a searing pain in his skin. It was not the voice of an old woman, but rather the innocent voice of a frail teenager. Dietrich knew not why he expected her to be so old, she looked young enough to be his little sister. Still a dull pain lingered in his skin and he had to bite his lips to focus on something else. 

A tremendous roar pulled Dietrich from his thoughts. The roar was followed by a another roar and then the earth itself trembled.
"It seems my children are discovering their new powers" she said, her voice somewhat distant and cold. "How foolish of these men to challenge us here, at the very centre of our power" she murmured, yet her voice held no conviction. Somehow it felt more like she was talking to herself rather than with Dietrich, and he could not help but wonder how he got himself into this mess. Looking up he discovered that he had rounded a corner and ahead lay the small town square. Four cloaked men ran on all four straight past Dietrich and his bound "mother", not even sensing their presence. "They cannot see us my child. I have cloaked us and not even their demon-born powers can penetrate the illusions that are shielding us from their hungry eyes". Her speech was confusing, full of the difficult words that Sharee sometimes used.

The town square was surrounded by the same three to four story tall buildings that dominated the rest of the town. Gargoyles and angles were perched on the sides of the walls, looking down upon the square with eyes full of awe and wonder. The square itself was dominated by a silvery circle of sorts and twelve steel poles surrounded that circle. The tiles of the square were arranged in some sort of pattern and at the very centre stood two figures; a huge barbarian covered in tattoos and a frail, but apparently beautiful young woman. The woman seemed not to sense them, but the barbarian looked straight at Dietrich and his lips curled into a snarl. "Have no fear, there is no one here that can spy us" mother said, but her words carried little or no comfort, for the barbarian pointed a finger straight at Dietrich and though his lips did not move, his words filled Dietrich's mind.

"Leave the witch to me, then turn around and leave"

*************************************

The chosen fought for their very lives. Another wave of assassins appeared from behind them, but Flare appeared and a salvo of alchemical mixtures dispatched the would be killers in a thunderous explosion of blood, bones and fire. But the moment of victory was short and soon the squad sapper was once more beset by dark cloaked men, three in number that appeared from within the garden.

One is the sign of awakening.
Two will rise to the call.

An unseen assassin thrust his sword deep into the trunk of Domunsoka's body, but the ghost doll seemed not to notice at all. Instead it looked down at the tattoo on its beastial arm. It must have been a trick of the eye, for ripples seemed to wash through his skin, moving the tattoo.

Two will rise to the call.

There was a silent flash of white, then the earth trembled and one, then another tremendous roar threatened to burst the very skulls of the combatants, and most dropped to their knees, pressing their hands against their temples.

When Sternflucht's chosen had regained their senses they noticed an assassin that pointed to the gates. "The dogs! The dogs! They have come alive".

[CaptainPenguin]

Domunsoka laps the air with it's disturbing tongue, and frees the offending weapon from it's torso. It encloses the assassin in a crushing bear-hug, resulting in the noise of shattering bones.

[EchoMirage]

Dogs... I hissed.
I was no dogs person.
Giving the 'dogs' a swift glance, I turned to the matters at hand.
The alleys belong to the mutt, but all of the city is the cats' domain.

As the harlequin spoke, to the shadows beckoned, so they came alive, with eyes flaring green, herding the black-clad men as cattle. Whether they were true or not, it little mattered, for I was there. Pouncing an assasing who lifted his blade to strike at Hunthar, I turned to him, growiling: "Swift. Square. Prey." The words seemed to come reluctantly, but I did not care then.

"Onward..."